Love Stories Never End
by Sophiethepegasus
Summary: As Eponine stands at the river edge, years after the June Rebellion, and every memory of her beloved rushes back to her. Every day in his arms, every time he kissed her. She remembers it all so well. E/E
1. Chapter 1

1.

In the town square of Paris there used to be an elephant, dirty. It isn't there anymore. Instead the faces of revolution stand on broad shoulders, going unnoticed by all except for those who end up sleeping on the stone bed at the leader's feet. White, beautiful, he's not far from the original. It used to not be entirely forgotten. One woman, her heart turned to stone, liquefied again, then frozen forever, tosses him her gaze and a half-smile, one that is her only true reminder of her past. She looks the same, but she goes by the name Madame Auriel Thereard. So her past is unknown.

_(she's had a lot of experience with names)_

Her parents didn't care. They never did, really. Besides the brief annoyance of not having a rock to anchor Montparnasse, it was one less mouth to feed. She walked down the aisle to a man she didn't love because she knew it didn't matter. One day she saw one of her old friends and felt history's knife find a resting place in her old and cracking heart. She grew to love her husband, she did. But she never allowed him the physical love. After a while he confronted her and asked her about her truthfulness. She looked him straight in the eye like she always did. (_You can't change yourself fully, you know)_

She told him, "Would you rather I give you my body, or my heart. I give you my mind."

There was always _that _boy and he'd never let go. No one guessed that she wasn't an Auriel at all. She was a good actress. At night she learnt to freeze her body, so that the rain of bullets didn't echo in her mind and that she reflected their screams.  
She dared not move. It didn't take her long to remember how, she's had a lot of experience with hiding.

Once a month, the 5th, she would go to the square with a bucket and wipe away as much grime as possible.

_(Odd, they called her, but that's what we all are)_

A few _gamin _saw her one day and ran up to her. She looked at them in the corner of her eye and asked them what they wanted in fluent argot. At first they were shocked but then they asked her in their language, "Madame Thereard, why are you so odd?"

She smirked at them. "Never tell your secrets. But let me tell you this. I am no bourgeoisie. I am you."

_(She is not one of us after all. She is of the streets. She is the dirt. He never used to care, though, when he kissed their intertwined fingers)_

The river cuts through Paris and she watches it. And for the first time, though she's thought of it many times, she allows him to finally shoot through her walls.

_(It always would end up like this, wouldn't it?)_

Eponine squeezed through the crevasses of the wall, the night her only companion. It was all she had. Its dark wings spread over the world and Eponine welcomed it like any lonely person does. Hiding in the shadows, back against the wall, that's how she'd come to spend her nights. The cold no longer touched her skin, but soaked into her heart.

She walked along the dark roads. She was so dark, hair, eyes, her skin was stained with dirt. Even her soul was a little dark. Then she saw the gentle glow of a building. Eponine saw the light ignite a familiar figure. She had once counted each and every freckle. And then Eponine didn't want to be in the dark. Not forever. Eponine swept inside. She felt the long-forgotten warmth. She'd even forgotten that she was cold. She was ice through-and-through. Her hand shoved inside her pocket and took out a cap she'd managed to steal from Montparnasse. Fitted on her head, Eponine climbed the stairs. Her dark eyes combed the room. She smiled when she saw Marius. She increased her pace until she was over to where he was. "Hello Monsieur. It's warm in here isn't it? I didn't even notice how cold it was."

Then she noticed the man with the dark curls with whom Marius was talking to. She was suddenly ashamed of her torn clothes. She glanced at her feet. "Oh, sorry Monsieur. I didn't think before I came in. Are these all _bourgeoisie?" _

"Eponine! Most of us, yes. Except Feuilly, he was a gamin before, but he taught himself to read and write. He's probably the most talented of us all. Except for Enjolras, of course."

Eponine's eyes widened. "There's a gamin?"

"There is one, yes, who pops around every while."

She noticed how the curly-haired man was watching her. She turned her head.

"Why haven't you introduced yourself? I'm Grantaire." He laughed in joyous drunkenness, and threw his arm around Eponine's shoulder. She stiffened, but when his fist didn't hit her she relaxed.

"You really want to know about a stupid _gamine's _name?" She laughed.

"Oh, if only Enjolras could've heard you. The gamine and gamin and the poor people of Paris are the people we're fighting for!"

"Fighting? The poor people? Why on earth would a bunch of _bourgeoisie _want to help a bunch of homeless people who have nothing to give them in return?"

Grantaire laughed again. "Ah, Mademoiselle, don't be so hard on yourself. We just want to make a better world, that's all."

Eponine grinned. "Fine then. My name's Eponine."

"Lovely name, indeed."

Eponine beamed. "Mother chose it out of a book, when we still had them. Eponine et Sabinus."

She seemed to hold a bit of pride for this. "I can read a little bit, too. And write. Remember, Marius?"

Marius chuckled. "Yes. _The borgies are coming._"

"Anyway, I think I best be off so you can save the poor people in peace."

Grantaire pouted, "Wait, Eponine. The best part hasn't even begun. And besides, there's alcohol. For free!"

"Fine. For the alcohol."

"Oh good."

A shout rose up from another curly-haired boy who was a little lighter than Grantaire. "Our marble statue is about to make an appearance."

A man who she hadn't noticed stood up. Gold curled around his head, his eyes were blue as the sky. Eponine watched him. Was this the best part?

"The people of Paris are hungry, it is no revelation." As he spoke, Eponine leaned forward intently, watching the revolutionary.

When he stopped speaking, Eponine opened her mouth and made a noise like she was about to speak before retreating into herself. Enjolras turned his head at the noise, noticing her. Eponine smiled at him.

"Were you going to speak?" His words were kind now. Eponine nodded.

"Why aren't you going to now?"

"I'm a gamine, sir. A girl." Her voice was raspy like the night streets, her dirt-coated cheeks were the land, her hair was barely noticeable out in the night.

"So what? Women will have equal rights in the world we're creating. Come on up and say what you'd like."

How mean of him, scaring a girl like Eponine. Of course he didn't mean to scare her. He didn't even know he had scared her in the aftermath, because Eponine's fear lasted a moment. Then she got from her seat and walked over to the table.

"Your talk of new worlds is very good, Monsieur. But there have always been poor and there always will be. For a time, everything will be good, and then you will die and a king will seat himself again on the throne. There'll be things you can't stop. Save us all, yes, try, but it is impossible. People will drop to the ground, hunger will never share equally. I'm sorry for ruining your dreams. This is why I don't speak that often."

Enjolras looked at her with a look that said he knew _everything _about her. She smiled and placed her head on her hand. "Why bother hiding," she muttered and tipped her head. The too-small cap fell to the ground and a curtain of darkness fell over her shoulders.

She zoned out. When people started leaving, she stayed there. Eponine curled up in her chair, her arms around her legs.

"Mademoiselle? Are you leaving?"

"Not sure. Cold streets are nothing compared to the wrath of the people there. You're right. We're so god-damn hungry, for a change, for _one damned thing _to change. I think I might sleep here for tonight, in this chair."

Enjolras stood up and faced her. Eponine flinched. He seemed to notice, and he smiled kindly. "Come with me." He led her through to the other room and she saw two beds side by side. Eponine gasped. "I haven't slept in a bed for years."

Enjolras nodded. "I'll be back. You can get changed."

"I don't have anything. I'll have to sleep in this."

Enjolras wanted to say something, that much was obvious, but he just nodded.

Eponine slipped between the covers, and allowed sleep to ebb away her consciousness. _I know I'll pay for this when I get home, but that's then. This is now. _

She heard Enjolras go to his bed. She turned and through her lashes saw his shadow moving across the room and smiled. He felt her presence, turned, and even in the dark, his smile showed.

Eponine closed her eyes and dreamed.


	2. Chapter 2

She saw him again at the Barricade. She was forgotten by now, months had passed. After all, Eponine was always forgotten. But she wasn't forgotten for longer than usual. The men had listened to her words and they cared a little bit.

Marius held the torch above the barrel, and Eponine's eyes glazed over in a panic. The opposition retreated. A cry for Marius' name was the only thing that registered with Eponine. She scrambled up the castle of furniture. The cap blew from her head in the wind and her river of darkness flew out behind her. Eponine felt the moistness in her eyes. This wasn't for Marius. She was a coward. A coward. A stupid god-damned coward. But Eponine didn't fear Hell. She clasped the rifle aimed at Marius. Eponine fell to the ground, but she wasn't dead yet. A horrible searing pain flamed in her side.

Eponine raised her head and screamed. Her tears flowed down her cheeks, her body shook. The pain flamed throughout her entire body and Eponine was still, unable to move. Even as she talked to Marius, the pain was unbearable. She spoke as much as she could, but the ringing of blood in her ears was feeding on her consciousness. When her eyes closed, she felt Marius' lips press against her forehead.

As arms wrapped around her, she felt the ground fall away. "What?" she gasped, but no one heard her. They laid her 'dead' body on a table. Eponine wanted to scream, to yell and make a fuss, to show them that she was real, not just a limp puppet. Actually, was she even breathing? Eponine could feel the warmth in her side. She felt like she was becoming water.

When she was about eleven years, her mother used to tell her that she was made of water, ever flowing through their fingers. She used to spend her best days in the sun with the tears on her cheeks drying. The sun used to be her company, but after a while she could no longer feel its warmth. In his time of need, the sun turned his face away and pretended that his child, Eponine Thenardier was as fine as ever.

Azelma was earth, her mother said. Some feat of nature, or maybe the sun just liked her better; let her keep some of her humanity. Even after all the years of pain and abuse, she was still kind. Eponine knew that if it weren't for her Gavroche would still be in the torture she called home.

The sounds of the men talking rang in her ears. _I'm alive! I am alive aren't I? Or am I too dire to care about. Just a _gamine _after all, aren't I?_

Then there were the sounds of footsteps coming over to her. "She's alive!" shouted a manly voice. Eponine, out of instinct, clamped her fists over her ears. She tried to open her eyes, to see who was her saviour. She wondered if it was worth it, whether she'd survive this thing. If she'd thank her saviour.

"Mademoiselle, I'm Joly."

Eponine opened her mouth but no noise came.

"Mademoiselle?"

Finally words were possible. "Eponine," she said, even though her eyes were still closed. "Eponine Jondrette."

Her lids finally opened and she jolted. "Oh, sorry Monsieur. Everything's so blurry and bright."

Everything looked smudged and distorted, like an abstract painting. Joly's face was spinning, but slowly regaining proportion. Eponine rubbed her eyes and he became more than a blur. "Monsieur Enjolras? Where is he? And Marius?"

"After, Mademoiselle. I have to bandage your wound. Are you able to take you're shirt off?"

Eponine nodded, and she reached for a fistful of her stolen shirt and hesitated. Would he judge her for the purple marks? And the scars? "Don't judge me, Monsieur."

Joly smiled, "Never, Mademoiselle."

Eponine lifted it over her body. "This bandage saved my life, didn't it?"

"Yes."

She unwrapped it and let it fall to the ground. Her breasts were near non-existent. The dirt coated her body. A burly woman arrived at her side with a bucket of water. Joly took a rag and washed the dirt gently. It took almost five minutes to get through twenty millimetres of skin. Eponine, while he was distracted, let her tears flow down her cheeks. With her left hand, she wiped them away. In an hour the top half was regularly normal. Something in Joly's eyes flickered, but they returned to normal within a few minutes. Purple patches decorated her skin like a canvas. Eponine hugged herself, dark hair flowing into her eyes. Joly then cleaned the wound. "This is going to sting."

Because the bullet only skimmed her, it was regularly okay. Joly poured some alcohol on the rag. Eponine started at the sight of it. He pressed it against the wound. Eponine's fingernails pressed into the skin of her palms but she was silent.

"You're very brave."

"I'm a _gamine, _Monsieur. I'm used to it."

Then a small voice called out. "Joly!" Eponine raised her head.

"Gavroche?!" she cried.

"'Ponine! What the hell are you doing 'ere? Don't you know how mad Dad will be?"

"I know. Who said I was going back to him?"

"You will."

Eponine huffed. "Nice greeting, 'Roche."

"Fine. Nice to meet you, 'Ponine, how are you, how's 'Zelma? Maman still being heartless, Papa being an asshole?" he told her in argot.

Eponine faltered. "'Zelma stays with 'Parnasse now. Maman was always heartless from the day I turned twelve. My bruises explain exactly how Father is doing. New day, new scar. Why do you think I'm here?"

Eponine lowered her head. "I never planned to live."

Gavroche frowned, strode over and hugged Eponine in her naked state. "Believe it or not, I've missed ya', 'Ponine."

"Monsieur Joly, 'Roche is my brother."

"Good. Now, I'm going to bandage up your wound again."

"You're hurt?"

"Why do you think I'm here, 'Roche?"

Gavroche walked around and eyed her wound. "Wow, 'Ponine. Anyway, where should I put these bullets? I swiped them from those assholes on the other side."

"Gavroche! You snatched their bullets?! You could be killed!"

"I want to do something for the cause! If I swipe enough Enjolras might let me fight!"

Eponine felt the urge to cry. Joly told Gavroche where to put them, but Eponine blocked them out. Eponine barely grunted as Joly stitched her wound. "Now Enjolras can see you."

Eponine slipped on her shirt. The sound of footsteps coming over turned her head. Dark brown eyes glanced up at him and her lips curled into a smile. "Monsieur Enjol-"

"I can't let you keep calling me Monsieur."

"No one will call you Monsieur if you survive this. Appreciate it."

"I never liked being called Monsieur. Good riddance."

Eponine grinned. "Then call me Eponine. If you're not a Monsieur, I'm certainly a Mademoiselle."

Eponine supported herself with her arm as she started to sit up. "No, Eponine, you'll tear your stitches. Eponine, one thing. Why did you ask for me?"

"I don't know Monsieur. I guess Marius- I don't know."

Eponine arched her neck and her dark curls fell about her face. For the first time Enjolras really saw her. She was probably once pretty. Her dark eyes were dark, and they were deep. Her lips weren't wide, but they were full. Shadows crowded her face, her jawbone was slightly square. Eponine had a look about her like she _knew. _What she knew he didn't know but it wasn't something you wanted to be known.

Enjolras shook his head. "I guess you don't want me then."

"No!" Eponine cried. "Stay."

Enjolras smiled at her. "Okay."

Eponine considered herself okay. She didn't have the most massive self-esteem possible but she did pretty well considering who her parentage was. Eponine wondered if, if she survived, she would boast about it. Eponine, that afternoon, when Marius came found that she didn't care anymore. Her heart didn't hurt when he talked about Cosette. When she told him that death had made her not love him anymore he didn't look offended or anything. He beamed and told her he was glad he hadn't hurt her too much.

But he was wrong. He had hurt her. He had hurt her too much and that was the reason she didn't care anymore. Eponine only had to have her stitches in for a night. That night she crept up to the top of the Musain and smiled when she saw Enjolras. "Hello Enjolras," she grinned.

"Hello Eponine."

"You didn't call me Mademoiselle. Good."

"You didn't call me Monsieur."

"Have you heard that they're starving us out?"

"Yes."

"Of course."

Eponine sat down in front of him, placing her hands under her chin. "How quickly can one get out of love?" she sighed. "Because it seems death does weird things to your heart. Your friends call you a marble statue and they're right, because one day someone will make a statue of you and Marius and Courfeyrac. But how could marble feel so passionate about the people. But it's not enough. We don't have enough to win."

Eponine watched as the setting sun ignited the dust particles.

"It's quite warm in here. I'm going to take a walk." _Maybe my last. _The unsaid words hung in the air like tension. "Care to come with me?"

"Okay."

Eponine and Enjolras slipped through an alley that Eponine made him wait at the entrance for while she checked that no men with dirty intention.

She darted into the shadows, whipped her head back and forth and then gave him a nod in the dark. As they walked beside each other, Eponine let her fingers curl around his. As the moonlight bathed them, Eponine glanced upwards and she started to fidget.

"What's wrong?" Enjolras asked. "Are you hurt?"

"No!" snapped Eponine but her face softened. "Sorry. I'm just thinking about when I was eight and I used to dance with my sister around our room. Sometimes we used to let Cosette in too. Never in front of Papa or any of the people staying in the inn. They used to laugh. Azelma didn't mind but I did. And father used to say that we were the most awful dancers he ever saw. Mama said we were brilliant."

"Your father wasn't kind, was he?"

"Isn't, you mean? Back then he didn't really know we existed. We were just another piece of the landscape. He hardly talked to mother outside of their bedroom, but she obeyed his every whim. If he wanted her to she would've killed. But he left that to me when I was older."

"What do you remember?"

"I don't know."

And as though summoned, from a house came music and childish laughter. A woman's voice told them to shush. Enjolras placed a hand on her small waist. They started to spin together. It wasn't a waltz. It was magic. Eponine placed her head on his chest. He stiffened, but relaxed. His fingers intertwined with her dark hair, stroking through the tangles.

The tune stirred in her chest, right underneath her left breast. Eponine's fingers wrapped around his hand. She wormed her hand from his and stepped back. Smirking, she started to twirl on her own. Eponine spun, the light jumping off her back. The golden light from the house spilled onto her dark body. Enjolras walked forward and she stumbled into his arms.

His fingers were pressed against the fabric over her stomach. They traced over to just need the scar. Eponine shook her head as he leaned closer. "No. Don't try to make me fall in love with you. Don't love me. It's a revolution. We're going to die, Enjolras."

"Maybe."

Eponine winced suddenly. "I think we'd better get back. I'll see if Joly can see my stitches."

"Your stitches? Okay then."

Enjolras' fingers once again curl around hers and he starts to walk her home. Joly met them at the alley and ran to them. "What are you doing?!" he cried.

"Going for a walk."

"Dancing," they said at the same time. "Going for a walk and dancing by the Seine."

"Right," muttered Joly, "so many germs. I need to check your stitches soon, Eponine."

"Of course, Joly."


End file.
